


Taste of Freedom

by master sassassin (thesassassin)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, McDonald's, Oneshot, What Happened in Budapest, kind of, pre-Clintasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesassassin/pseuds/master%20sassassin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows that McDonald's french fries are Natasha's favourite food. Only Clint knows why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot thing based off of a headcanon from the tumblr avengersthingsthattoteshappened.

She is going to die. The archer had forced her back against a wall, and she is now slumped to the ground from the pain in her leg. Red blood is still leaking from the arrow wound. She smiles slightly at the irony. Her life had begun in the Red Room, and now it will end with red blood. At least she can die with dignity. She raises her head to stare coldly into the eyes of her executioner.

Who mutters something under his breath, and lowers his bow. She stays perfectly still, and drops her gaze to the wound in her leg. The flow of blood is starting to slow. Maybe, if the archer hesitates for long enough, she could make a move.

'I was sent here to kill you.' She looks up again when he starts talking. 'You probably figured that out by now, though. The thing is, see, I don't want to.'

'I - I don't understand.' The arrow hasn't buried itself too deeply in her leg. Maybe she can pull it out, but probably it's poisoned, or the head was designed to come off once it was embedded. The archer's other weapons were clever like that.

'I've seen your file. You've pulled off some pretty impressive stuff, Widow. And I've got to experience your fighting firsthand. You're good. I only managed to get you cornered 'cause i got lucky.'

'I know,' she says, and then hisses in pain as she successfully removes the arrow.

'I work for this organization called SHIELD,' the archer continues. She raises an eyebrow. She's heard of SHIELD, but hasn't realized that was who was hunting her down. 'We could use someone with your talents. What do you say?'

'Do I have a choice?'

'Well, you could say no. But then I'd have to shoot you, and as I said, that idea isn't as appealing anymore.'

She hesitates. 'The KGB will find me.'

'SHIELD is good at hiding people.'

'I accept your offer.' Just four words, and her future is suddenly a blank canvas. For the first time in a long while, she has absolutely no idea what is going to happen to her in the next week, days, hours even. What does happen is that the archer puts a finger to his earpiece.

'Hawkeye to base. I have Black Widow.' He listens to a short burst of staticy speech. 'Sorry, Director, but I'm making a different call.' He holds out a hand to her. She grasps it, and he pulls her to her feet.

'Sorry 'bout the leg, by the way.'

'It's fine.' She gingerly puts her weight on it, and wonders if Hawkeye had purposely avoided injuring her too badly, planning from the start to try and bring her in. 'Sorry about your face.'

He cautiously touches the bruises already forming there and shrugs. 'I've had worse.'

They walk out of the warehouse in silence. She blinks in the sudden bright light of day; it had been several hours before sunrise when she had first hidden in the warehouse. There is the strong, acrid smell of smoke in the air, probably the result of another run-in between SHIELD and the KGB.

'I think the car's parked somewhere over there,' Hawkeye says, waving vaguely to his left. 'Left it by a road services place.' He frowns and looks at her injured leg. 'You okay to walk?'

'I'll be fine.' She pauses anyway, though, and tears off one arm of her jacket to use as a tourniquet.

* * *

They walk along the side of the road for several hours in almost total silence. They don't exactly have a lot of conversation topics to chose from, she muses.

'Hey, here we go!' Hawkeye stops triumphantly at the fourth road services they have passed. This one has a beat-up white car in the parking lot. He glances at her. 'You know, I could really go for a McDonald's since we're here.' She doesn't respond, just follows him into the grimy cafe. They are the only customers, and the kid at the till takes in Hawkeye's battered face and her ripped-up jacket with wide eyes, but doesn't comment.

'Uh, can I take your order?'

Hawkeye gives her an expectant look. 'What do you want?' he misinterprets her expression, adding, 'Don't worry, I can pay.'

She frowns, looking at the menu on the wall above the kid's head. It's the first time she's really had to decide something for herself before. In the past, every decision was either made for her by whatever organization she was working for at the time, or was carefully calculated to give credence to the false identity she was wearing. But now, just for a few brief minutes, she answers to no agency, hides behind no mask. It's overwhelming, even if the choice only concerns a McDonalds menu.

'French fries?' She hates the way her voice betrays her, phrasing it as a question. Hawkeye doesn't comment though, just nods.

'Burger and two fries, please.' Their food arrives quickly, possibly due to the lack of other customers and possibly due to the intimidated state of the cashier. They sit facing each other at a table near the window, and just eat in silence for a while.

'Clint Barton,' Hawkeye says suddenly. She looks up from her fries, eyebrows raised. 'That's my real name,' he elaborates.

She glances around at the empty tables. 'Natalia Romanova.' It's been years since she's spoken her own name, not her codename or one of the countless names she's assumed for missions. But somehow, instinctively, she trusts Clint. Maybe because he doesn't comment on her name, just shoves the rest of his hamburger in his mouth and crumples its greasy wrapping between his fingers.

'Now, I'm guessing you don't have much in the way of loose ends that need tying up before we go.'

'I don't.' Her lips quirk up slightly, wondering why he even brought it up when he knew the answer.

'Right. So, we leave now, it's about a half hour drive to the air base outside the city, there'll be a plane waiting for us and we can probably get the hell out of Hungary before the authorities work out who caused all the explosions.'

She smiles properly this time. 'Probably a good plan.'

'Okay.' His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. 'You ready?'

She nods. Maybe a new life of freedom and shinier weapons awaits her, maybe a quick death if SHIELD decides she can't be trusted. Either way, she senses that Clint will have her back. 'I'm ready.'

* * *

'I still can't believe you're  _eating_ that crap,' Tony says, with an expression of horrified fascination. 'I'm pretty sure the only times I've eaten at McDonald's are when I've been concussed or delirious.'

Natasha shrugs and throws the fries carton in the trash. 'It brings back good memories.'


End file.
